"Perhaps—when you come to think over it all quietly—you will."
Capt. Thick. Not the groom's fault, Sir. I kept him waitin' a bit, and—and we had to stop to shift the seat and that, and so——
Und. (to himself). Great blundering booby! Can't he see nobody wants him here! As if he hadn't bored poor Lady Maisie enough at breakfast! Ah, well, I must come to her rescue once more, I suppose!
Sir Rup. Half an hour to lunch! Anybody like to come round to the stables? I'm going to see how my wife's horse Deerfoot is getting on. Fond of horses, eh, Mr.—a—Undershell? Care to come with us?
Und. (to himself). I've seen quite enough of that beast already! (Aloud, with some asperity.) You must really excuse me, Sir Rupert. I am at one with Mr. Ruskin—I detest horses.
Sir Rup. Ah? Pity. We're rather fond of 'em here. But we can't expect a poet to be a sportsman, eh?
Und. For my own poor part, I confess I look forward to a day, not far distant, when the spread of civilisation will have abolished every form of so-called Sport.
Sir Rup. Do you, though? (After conquering a choke with difficulty.) Allow me to hope that you will continue to enjoy the pleasures of anticipation as long as possible. (To the rest.) Well, are you coming?
[All except Undershell follow their host out.